


Vigil

by pollitt



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are six candles missing--three loved ones gone missing into the stars, the sea, who have returned. Two who never will. One who is still lost, whose candle still burns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by my picfor1000 picture and was already knocking about my brain when this challenge was announced. A double treat. Also serving as inspiration was a passage in a book I was reading--_The Town That Forgot How to Breathe_ by Kenneth J. Harvey. Additional notes can be found at the end of the story, as well as at my journal [here](http://pollitt.livejournal.com/326614.html). Thank you to Maverick for her beta work, hand-holding and suggestions.

Sheppard has been missing for seven days when Rodney approaches Lt. Styles and asks if he can use some flour, water, salt, sugar and yeast from the kitchen. The next morning, before the sun has fully risen, Rodney enters the empty kitchen carrying an earthenware bowl covered by a cloth and begins his task. In Elizabeth's office, Styles--who reported Rodney's odd request--Elizabeth and Radek turn on the security feed and watch as Rodney silently spreads some flour onto the counter and proceeds to remove a wad of dough from the bowl and begins to knead it, turning and pressing with the ease of baker.

When Rodney's voice--broken and more than a little lost--cuts through the silence, the sound, as much as his words, make them turn away from the screen, turn off the transmission.

Styles waits until Rodney's gone to return to the kitchen. The space where Rodney worked is as clean as if he had never been there, no sign of his work remains.

Elizabeth passes Rodney in the hall, at the sight of the covered bundle in his hands, the memory of his words, she looks away, tears prickling her eyes.

Radek is waiting by Rodney's door when he approaches, carrying his creation as though it were a priceless artifact, a ZPM. There's no point in hiding what he's seen, heard, what he's known. And so Radek doesn't even try to mask his expression, letting Rodney see his concern, his friendship. But no pity--Rodney would never accept that.

He presses the box into Rodney's hand, an offering of understanding, of support. He cannot bring Colonel Sheppard home, but he can bring Rodney this. "They were blessed by a priest. Back home."

There are six candles missing--three loved ones gone missing into the stars, the sea, who have returned. Two who never will. One who is still lost, whose candle still burns.

Even men of science, who have built a lifetime of faith in the rules of an infinite universe, in times of greatest need find themselves turning to belief.

"Thank you," Rodney says, his voice rough with disuse outside of the labs, where he's spent the last week--searching.

Radek nods and watches as Rodney continues down toward the piers.

 

oo--oo--oo

 

The thirteenth of July--according to Atlantis's calendar--falls on day ten. Miko lights the candle of her chochin, her careful script illuminated on the rice paper, and holds the lantern in her hands.

She utters a simple prayer and sets the lantern into the water, and with a quick bow, she departs.

Later, Rodney will stand in the same location, setting the still-warm loaf of bread onto the water, a lone candle standing sentry in the center.

Alone, they watch their parcels drift away, the light of the candles a guide in the night.

 

oo--oo--oo

 

On day twenty-six, Teyla finds Rodney in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, kneading and pressing the dough before him. Beside him is the box of candles and a booklet of matches.

"Z'look's?" She asks, reading the name printed on matches.

"It's a bar. John's favorite," Rodney answers, never looking up from his task.

"Rodney, I could. I could help, if you would like." His shoulder goes tense beneath her careful touch and a sob manages to escape before he straightens his back and clears his throat.

"No. I can't-- Thank you, but no. It, it has to be me."

She nods and feels his muscles relax under her hand. She smooths a slow circle over the worn cotton of his t-shirt and asks. "Explain it to me."

He does, his hands never ceasing in their duty.

Later, at the edge of the lowest pier, she is permitted to watch Rodney settle the single white candle into the dimpled center of the loaf of sweet smelling bread he created with his own hands. He lights the candle from John's booklet of matches and sets the offering adrift.

As they watch the candle float on the waves, Teyla is reminded of stories from her own past. The taste of strong tea and the sharp scent of the Searching candles as clear to her as if she were a small child again, waiting for her father's return.

Before she retires for the night, she finds the squat brown Searching candle among her possessions. In the sill of her window she sets a mug of boiling water and adds loose tealeaves, and beside it she places the candle, its flame flickering in the still air.

 

oo--oo--oo

 

Ronon returns from another unsuccessful search on the twenty-eighth day, and like the twenty-seven days prior, he visits Sheppard's door. Kneeling, he clears the spilled wax from the candle posted there. He searches his pockets for the lighter--silver, a Zippo-- Sheppard had given to him, that he's used each night.

Rodney kneels beside him, hands him the matchbook, watches as he strikes a match and sets the wick alight.

Wordlessly, Ronon returns the matchbook to Rodney, the slightest of nods an acknowledgment of thanks, of understanding, between them.

 

oo--oo--oo

 

Sheppard steps through the stargate--a little unsteadily--on day thirty. His clothes are torn in places, stained with dirt and mud all over, his face is bruised and bearded, and he's limping, but he's alive and all of Atlantis finds itself able to breathe again.

The kitchen remains dark that night; flour, salt, sugar, butter and water lie untouched upon the counter; and sitting outside Radek's door is the box of candles, a simple note--two words--resting atop.

In the soft light of a bedside lamp, Rodney's hands, freed from their month-long labor, travel over familiar terrain. He touches John's face with flour and wax stained fingers. "You came back."

John's hand catches Rodney's wrist, his lips brushing against the warm skin. He kisses along Rodney's palm, each fingertip. "Tell me about these?"

"I will," Rodney promises. "Later."

One kiss becomes more, their bodies fitting together, moving, searching. No longer adrift, they guide each other home.

**Author's Note:**

> [ ](http://photobucket.com/)
> 
> * Miko was performing the toro nagashi ceremony. This Japanese ceremony is primarily done on the last evening of the Buddhist O-bon festival as a way to guide the spirits of the departed back to the other world.
> 
> * Rodney's task--making the bread, setting a candle in it and sending it off into the ocean--was inspired by a passage about folklore in a rural, seaside town in northern Canada in _The Town That Forgot How to Breathe_.   
> "They had been missing for two days when Miss Laracy baked the three-bun loaf of bread that was meant to aid in the recovery of her loved one. A calm night was required and it was just that. With the loaf fresh from the oven, she removed a long holy candle from the box that had been blessed by the priest. She inserted the end of the candle soundly in the soft centere bun and made certain that it was straight. […] She set the loaf onto the beach-pebbled shore and lit the candle wick with a match from the front pocket of her dress. Taking the bread in both hands, she approached the water, bent and set the loaf afloat. […] The loaf of bread, baked by her hands, kneaded and shaped and baked by the hands of the lover of the man who had been lost at sea, was known to be the sole means capable of finding that man."
> 
> I don't know for certain if the author created this bit of lore himself, or, like other great storytellers, wove bits of traditional lore in with his own creation. I imagined Rodney as a young boy hearing this story and then, as a man, as a man of science, turning to this fantastical belief when traditional avenues of science and logic don't bring John home.


End file.
